


You're sailing from another world, sinking in my sea

by Resamille



Series: This time belongs to you [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, an unnescessary amount of kissing probably, but really who's complaining, hints at shalluratt i suppose but they pining hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 14:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Two months into their summer abroad, and Lance is falling hard and fast for the boy he's sharing an apartment with.Except his boyfriend also has something up his sleeve, and Lance is dying to know what Keith has planned.And Pidge is still decidedly annoying, but Lance can't really blame them since it's their fault he and Keith are dating.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what happened but have more porn.  
> Title from Wolves Without Teeth by Of Men and Monsters  
> And I guess this is gonna be a series now. Heck.

Lance feels the realization hit him in its entirety.

“ _Fuck me_.”

It was a Friday, too, and he was _so close_ to getting home.

 

It's after the third time Lance has to walk back to the university that he finally escapes the grueling confines of obligation. The first time, he'd forgotten his keys, which would have been _fine_ because Keith could have let him into the apartment they shared and no one was going to be going through the boring little room Lance and Allura worked in, except for the fact that he remembered Keith said he was going to be out all day. Lance wasn't inclined to wait until he got back just to be able to flop on a vaguely horizontal surface in a place he wouldn't be judged for doing so.

(Okay, so maybe Keith would judge him just a little bit if Lance passed out on the kitchen counter again, but what can he say, Allura is a _slave driver_ , and Lance might have been bitter if she wasn't so damn gorgeous.)

The second time, Shiro had called Lance to inquire about some reports that he and Allura had passed onto him, Hunk, and Keith to use as reasoning for some of their data. And Shiro had then decided to be extremely vague about which reports he was talking about, so Lance ended up going back to the university to help Shiro sort through the literal shit ton of data Lance and Allura had collected. Within approximately six minutes of running his gaze over papers he practically memorized after the number of times he'd read over them, he found was Shiro was looking for and cleared up the whole ordeal.

(Win for Lance! But, really, they make a great team, the seven of them—eight if Coran's included, but their eccentric professor mostly lets them do their own stuff—Lance and Allura handle the public relations and statistics, wizards with raw data; Shiro, Hunk, and Keith work with the mechanics and real-life applications; and then Pidge and Matt in their double-trouble team dynamic translate prototypes into programs. It's really a good system.)

And Lance had finally, finally, had the freedom to return to his bed, which was getting increasingly more enticing with each step he took home, and just when he was around the corner from the apartment, Pidge called him, demanding, of all things, alcohol.

Which was downright unfair because _they're in Madrid and Pidge can buy their own shit even if they're not legal in America_. But Matt is aggressively protective of his nonbinary sibling and won't let Pidge anywhere near a liquor store unless the entire group of them are tagging along, and even then he keeps his eagle-eyes on them until Allura finally coaxes him into having a drink or two, and Matt is as weak to Allura's pretty face as Shiro is.

And Lance, being the absolutely fan-fucking-tastic friend he is—never mind the hoards of blackmail Pidge has on him from freshman year and before that—agrees to grab Pidge some tequila or something.

So that brings him to now, making his way back to his temporary apartment in the setting Madrid sun for the third and hopefully final time that day.

The first thing Lance notices when he manages to free his keys from the sticky lock of the apartment door is that Keith's jacket is already hanging on a hook on the wall in the entryway, meaning Keith beat him back.

So much for staying out all day, if Lance got here after him. Lance bumps the door closed with his heel, slipping out of his shoes. He really doesn't understand why Keith goes out with a jacket anyway—it's summer, and even if Keith was cold, what good does this cropped piece of fabric do? But Lance lets his fingers brush over the sleeve, because he's fond of the damn thing almost entirely because of the fact it belongs to Keith.

It still smells like heat and freedom.

Leaving his sentimentality at the door, Lance makes his way into the small living area of their apartment. He finds Keith curled up on the couch, a book perched in his lap and hair tied back in a messy ponytail, the sight of which makes Lance's heart flutter in his chest.

“Hey,” Lance hums, draping himself over the back of the couch, and subsequently over Keith, arms looped over his shoulders. Keith starts, barely, and then tips his head back as Lance noses against the curve of his neck, pressing a lazy kiss to the heated skin. “How was your day? Jesus, you're warm. Are you getting sick?”

“I'm fine,” Keith murmurs, tilting his head to kiss the corner of Lance's mouth. His breath fans out across Lance's, tasting of fresh bread and sweetness. “Got that model finished finally. Hunk's picking it up tomorrow.”

“Did you stop somewhere else?” Lance teases, tightening his grip around his boyfriend so he can't escape.

Keith's pulse jumps under Lance's lips. “What?”

“You went to a bakery somewhere, didn't you? And you didn't bring me anything?” Lance pulls back, mock offense coloring his tone.

“Guilty,” Keith says, deflating.

“Your sweet tooth is insatiable,” Lance huffs.

“It's why I'm dating you, isn't it?”

Lance feels his face heat, and Keith turns from where his head is ducked to smirk over his shoulder at Lance. His gaze speaks volumes of mischief and devoted promises of his touch. Lance swallows hard.

 

Despite the heat in Keith's eyes, they end up tangled together in his bed, trading lazy kisses until the growling of Lance's stomach ( _he_ didn't stop to grab an afternoon snack, now did he?) forces him to pull out of the comforting circle of Keith's arms. Before he can get off the bed, however, Keith catches his hand.

Lance stumbles, and catches himself by sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Keith's eyes glint in the warmth of the lamp light, violet dark in the dim and want. “Hey,” he says thickly, and then his gaze darts down. “I—Let's go somewhere tomorrow.”

“Dinner?” Lance asks, curling Keith's hold around his wrist to instead thread their fingers together over the fabric of Keith's blankets.

“No, uh... Let's take a trip somewhere,” Keith breathes, voice still a little husky from impassioned, albeit slow, kisses. Part of Lance swells with pride that he's the reason for the low quality to Keith's tone. “I have something planned.”

Lance feels his eyebrows shoot up before he can fully process the words. “What is it?”

Keith ducks his head, and then sends Lance a soft smile, looking up at him through his eyelashes, uncharacteristically shy. “Surprise,” he finally says.

“Dammit, Keith, you can't leave me hanging,” Lance groans, reaching for Keith's other hand, as if more touch is imploring enough of a gesture that Keith might cave. Lance knows Keith is weak for him—they've been dating since the first week of the research trip, and August is quickly approaching—but the hard set of Keith's amethyst gaze can almost fool Lance into thinking the exact opposite is true. “Alright, fine,” he concedes. “Do I get to know where we're going, at least?”

“Nope,” Keith hums, satisfied. “But pack a change of clothes. And other necessities.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow at Keith's back as he slips out of Lance's grasp and lands perfectly balanced despite the fact he practically rolled off the bed in a flat half-second. Damn this gorgeous muscular boy. Ah, correction: _fuck him_. “You're unfair.”

Keith stretches languidly, still facing away from Lance, and the movement causes his shirt to rise up and reveal the pale strip of skin at his waist. Lance's gaze is drawn to a particularly dark bruise on his hip from a few nights ago, and it drives him _nuts_. “And you're gorgeous,” Keith replies without missing a beat, as if he's talking about the weather.

Keith knows exactly how to get under his skin.

“Nope,” Lance says, too loudly, and makes a show of stomping from Keith's room. “Nope. I'm making a sandwich and then I'm going to sleep. I will not be played like this.”

Keith's laughter escorts him through the apartment. His gaze glints like a cat's as it follows Lance to the kitchen. His smile is that of a devil's, searing hot and _knowing_.

Lance swallows hard, and makes a point of sticking his ass out at Keith as he rummages through the fridge.

 

The train ride is something Lance wasn't really expecting, but comes as a decidedly pleasant surprise. Their luggage is stowed safely above their heads, as they hold hands on the seat and watch the scenery pass by. It would be relaxing except that a gentle thrum of curiosity sings through Lance's veins, because while he'd brought a single bag with overnight things, Keith had two: his standard carry-on, and then another which Lance was eager to get his hands on and Keith was exceedingly protective of.

Keith leans his head against Lance's shoulder, brushes his thumb over Lance's knuckles.

Lance is melting, he knows it.

 

Dinner is somewhere on the coast, with a table outside on the tiny balcony that overlooks the water, and candles settled between them. (Keith was disappointed they weren't real, the fucking pyromaniac, and then proceeded to hastily return the tea lights to their respective decorative cups as their waiter approached).

“Come on, Keith,” Lance pleads, as their waiter retreats after taking their orders. “Give me a hint, at least.”

Keith takes a sip of wine, hiding his grin behind the glass. He gives a soft suggestive shrug as he sets the drink down before leaning casually on the table.

“ _Keeeith_ ,” Lance whines, drawing out his name. Just for good measure, he pouts.

Keith stares at him for a moment, and his tongue darts out to lick across his bottom lip. Lance follows the movement, and then feels a smile break over his expression when Keith turns away to look at the water, a flush rising on his cheeks.

“Isn't it enough of a giveaway that I told you to bring lube?” Keith asks quietly.

“I was supposed to bring lube?” Lance asks, overly dramatic, but even in his mocking, he manages to sell it through the surprised tone of his voice.

Keith's head whips to look at him, a mixture of angry and horrified, and then his gaze darkens when he sees the shit-eating grin on Lance's face. “You're a fucking ass,” he growls.

“No, that's what you'll be doing,” Lance hums casually, because Keith isn't the only one who can tease. He reaches for his own wine, keeping a careful watch on Keith's reaction as he takes a sip.

Keith makes a noncommittal noise, tilting his head along with that same suggestive shrug. His velvet voice is smooth and pitched just at the right tone to have Lance shifting in his seat. “We'll see about that.”

Lance almost chokes.

 

When they return to their hotel, Lance is tempted to dive for that damn bag, resting ominously on the edge of the bed, if for no other reason than to have Keith growl and pounce after him, wrestle it from Lance's hand. Being pinned and breathless under Keith is a place Lance is always happy to be.

But he doesn't have to edge Keith into tackling him, because Keith is doing it on his own, pressing Lance's back against the door that had closed behind them only a heartbeat before. His mouth is warm and relentless against Lance's, carefully but forcefully lining up the seams of their lips, grip digging into Lance's hips, then tugging him closer by his belt loops.

Their bodies bump, delicious heat blooming where one of Keith's thighs presses between Lance's and he grinds, slow and sultry, against him. Lance groans into their kiss, lips parting to pant into Keith's mouth, and Keith takes the opportunity to nip at Lance's bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth before soothing away the subtle pain of the bite with a few swipes of his tongue.

Lance manages to get his hands around Keith, pulling him flush until they're pressed together from shoulder to knees, searing where they connect, like ice and fire making instant steam. Lance feels like he's drowning in it, as Keith pulls away from the kiss to save his neck from the awkward angle, and instead starts to work against Lance's jaw, nipping and sucking marks into the tanned skin, as if the old ones had already faded and he needed to reclaim his territory.

Because that's what kissing Keith was like: a force some nature. Some inexplicable existence of passion and affection coiled into a tight burst of emotion. There were times that Lance was just along for the ride, a leaf on the breeze.

This is one of those times.

And then Lance catches sight of the mystery bag sitting on the bed, just as Keith bites down hard on the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Lance lets out a soft yelp of surprise that instantly begins to drag into a moan, raw against his throat.

“Keith—” he gasps, pleading, praying.

Keith runs his nose along Lance's neck, a gentle sensation of touch that has Lance shuddering under it. He pulls Lance's earlobe between his teeth, drawing out a low groan in response, and then, breathe fanning over Lance's skin, whispers: “Do you want to top tonight?”

Lance feels his knees go weak. “Y-you'll let me?” he manages, as Keith presses a closed-mouth kiss just behind his ear.

“I've never been against it,” Keith says against his skin, thumbs easing under Lance's shirt to play along the edge of his jeans. “You just look so good taking my cock like you were made for it.”

“ _Fuck, Keith_ ,” Lance huffs, and nearly collapses, if not for the fact Keith knows him well enough by now and is already there to support him, a leg still slipped between Lance's so that when his body dips, he ends up grinding on Keith's thigh. A whine slips from between Lance's lips.

Keith pulls back to run his gaze over Lance. He knows he must be a sight—wrecked as much as the first time they were together. Lance has seen what Keith does to him, and the images of his own debauchery are burned into his brain, all because he absolutely comes apart at the seams because of Keith's touch.

Keith bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth for a moment, and uncertainty flashes in his eyes for a moment.

“Keith?” Lance asks, sobering some with worry.

“I said I had a surprise,” Keith says. It sounds like a confession. For a heartbeat more, he looks unsure, and then his intent hardens his gaze. “Wait here,” he orders. “No—on the bed. I'll be back.”

Lance swallows hard. Keith darts away from him, and the sudden rush of coolness from the lack of body heat hits Lance. He follows Keith to the bed, but Keith grabs the bag and ducks away to the bathroom before Lance can form a response.

So he sits and waits, anticipation making his stomach flutter and painfully hard because dammit did Keith really have to jump him _before_ he ran off to do whatever he was going to do?

 

Lance hums to himself, flopped across the hotel bed. He's already sent Hunk a couple photos from their train journey earlier, and then a few memes from scrolling through twitter. What can he say? He can hear Keith shuffling from the other side of the bathroom door, but he still hasn't come out and Lance doesn't exactly have the longest attention span.

Still, the butterflies dancing in his belly haven't stopped, and everything he does is more of a distraction from the nerves than anything else.

He's painfully hypersensitive of each rustle of fabric he manages to pick up on.

 

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Lance gets a text from Keith.

S _top sending memes to the group chat._

Lance splutters a nervously incoherent noise, and then his phone vibrates in his hands again, a message which has Lance flinging his phone against the bedside table and leaping off the bed: _I'm ready._

Lance's heart stutters as he watches the doorknob turn, and he swallows the anticipation rising in his throat. He feels breathless as his heart skips a beat, and then, to make up for it, starts up double-time as soon as Keith emerges from the bathroom, slowly leaning back on the door to close it while his gaze dodges Lance.

“Oh my God,” Lance breathes, and holy fuck, was that his voice? He sounds _wrecked_. “This isn't real.”

Keith takes a single step forward, still timid, and crosses his arms over his chest, silk rustling with his movements. After a moment, he sets his jaw and decides against that position, and lets his hands fall to his sides, worrying the edge of the fabric, to expose his outfit to Lance: a black kimono that exposes the pale of Keith's legs, contrasting gorgeously, with red lace adorning the sleeves.

Lance may love the way Keith can coax the most exquisite pleasure out of him, but tonight he suddenly has the urge to absolutely devour.

Keith tips his chin up, just barely. It's a slightly defiantly move, as if daring Lance to do anything but fall absolutely for this boy even more, and it would be a challenge in and of itself if it weren't for the fact it exposed Keith's neck.

Keith's neck—which is bound in a soft-looking leather collar, a deep velvet red that matches the lace of his kimono.

Lance tries to remember how to breathe, but he might have died and gone to heaven because—Jesus Christ—he does not deserve the gorgeous incubus in front of him. “Keith,” Lance whispers, and his voice is cracked with need. “ _Keith_ , God, Keith.”

Because apparently that's all Lance can manage, some mix of profanity and variations of Keith's name, pleaded in tones ranging from shatteringly desiring and a caress of adoration.

“I'm... assuming this is a g-good reaction?” Keith manages, and his head ducks shyly, hiding behind his bangs. He self-consciously crosses his arms over his chest again.

“Fuck,” Lance breathes, and somehow he's suddenly standing across the room, standing before Keith, letting his gaze travel over their slopes and planes of his body, curiosity tugging at his mind for whatever is underneath the robe. He finally finds his voice, though it's so laced with heat that it's hoarse in his dry throat: “Fuck, you're beautiful.”

Keith has the audacity to blush, as if he isn't the sexiest thing Lance has ever seen.

“You like it?” Keith asks softly, as Lance reaches for his hands and draws him closer. He lets his fingers trace gently over the lace, and then over the soft silk of the rest of the kimono, dancing along Keith's arms until his hands are resting on his shoulders. Let lets one wander, thumbing at the leather of the collar, quietly reaching around, under Keith's hair, to trace the shape, and then pausing when something cool brushes against his finger: a single ring, meant for attaching a leash.

A wave of heat washes over Lance. He's drowning in the hurricane of Keith, and glad for it.

Lance pulls his hand back, fingers trembling slightly, and he lets his hands ghost down the front of Keith's chest. Keith's eyelids flutter shut, and he lets Lance trace over his body, leaning into the light touches, until Lance's fingers brush the tied sash around Keith's waist.

His eyes shoot open, and he grabs Lance's hands, making a _tsk_ noise. Suddenly Keith has both hands planted on Lance's chest and is pushing him back, guiding Lance backwards until his knees his the bed and he sits. “Show's not done yet,” Keith hums, low and intentional in the sultry tone.

He leans forward, a hand planted on each of Lance's thighs, and Keith presses a chaste kiss to Lance's lips. One, then another, all the while arching his back and giving Lance a stunning view of the slope of his shoulders and the drape of fabric over the curve of his body each time Keith pulls away—only to steal Lance's breath again with another kiss.

Keith squeezes Lance's thighs once in warning, and then he's whirled around, feet planted on the outside of Lance's, ass hovering just above Lance's crotch, back so tantalizingly close to Lance's chest. The first roll of his hips, just a ghost of sensation where Lance really wishes for far more friction, has Lance sucking in air and holding it, and then the second, a low grind accompanied by the dip of Keith's hips, has their bodies connecting and both of them letting out low moans.

Keith lifts up again, swiveling his hips just out of reach, and Lance hears himself growl—or perhaps it's just a very aggressive groan—and he reaches up to drag Keith back down. He catches his boyfriend off guard enough that he manages one thrust against his ass, and then Keith is dancing away from his hands, turning around with an annoyed downturn to the corners of his mouth. “No touching.”

Lance pouts, and disobediently reaches for Keith's hands.

He allows it, though, letting Lance draw him close, until he's standing between Lance's legs, and Lance can wrap his arms around him, letting his fingers splay over the curve of Keith's back. Lance rests his chin against Keith's stomach, looking up at him as Keith worries his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes half-lidded.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Lance asks, breath warming the fabric across Keith's stomach. He nibbles on the bow of the sash, and Keith looks down at him warily.

“You're not the only one who's done some interesting things while drunk,” Keith replies. He brings his hands up to rest on Lance's shoulders, but does so just at the same time that Lance dips his touch lower, slipping under the silk of the kimono and coming to rest on Keith's bare ass.

Keith jumps slightly, and then swats his hands away. Lance is too much in shock to really process anything anyway. “You're ruining the surprise,” Keith growls, and then, words that make Lance's dick twitch against the constrains of his pants: “Maybe I should tie you up.”

Lance lets himself fall back against the bed, draping his wrists over each other above his head, an easy target, alluring in the splay of his curves. “M-maybe you should,” he manages, attempting to smirk at Keith despite the fact it probably comes out far more like a hopeful grin.

One of Keith's eyebrows quirks up. “You sure?”

Lance bites his lip, and then nods. “Let's try it.”

Keith glances around the room. “With what?”

Lance sits up, hiss own gaze searching. When he finds nothing, he concludes: “I think I brought a scarf.”

“If we stretch it, it's not my fault,” Keith says, turning to rummage through Lance's bag.

As he bends to grab it, the kimono rides up, just a bit too short to cover him completely, and Lance catches a glimpse of sheer fabric and bare skin, a cutout center in the back, and Lance feels dizzy. “Oh my God,” he breathes.

Keith realizes his mistake instantly, at the same time he finds the scarf, and tugs it out with far more force than necessary, whirling. “Dammit, Lance,” he growls. “Cheater.”

“I'm s-surprised,” Lance protests weakly, voice squeaking.

Keith glowers for a moment, before letting out a resigned sigh. He climbs up on the bed behind Lance, and the way he manhandles Lance's arms to tie them should not be as much of a turn on as it is.

“Wait,” Lance manages, somehow thinking ahead. Or maybe just that his clothes are too constricting in the heat of the room, in his heat of his body. “Let me take off my shirt first.”

“Good idea,” Keith responds appreciatively, and then sets to work once Lance's upper body is bare.

As soon as the scarf seems to be in place, Lance tugs on it—loose enough that he might be able to get out if he needed to, but tight enough he probably can't get out without some struggling. “Tell me if you can't feel anything.” Lance nods in response, and Keith hums, seemingly satisfied.

He takes his place in front of Lance again, and his fingers reach out almost reverently to brush over Lance's cheekbones, thumb tracing the shape of Lance's cheek, and then dusting over his jaw in featherlight touches. “You're too beautiful,” Keith whispers, seemingly losing himself in the sight of Lance staring wantonly up at him.

“Are you kidding?” Lance finds himself choking out. “I'm not the one all dolled up this time. You're breathtaking.”

Keith allows himself to caress Lance's cheeks for a moment more, and then Lance's words seem to register. His face dusts a delicious pink before his eyes gleam with intent again. “You ain't seen nothin' yet.”

Lance would have barked out a laugh, except that before Keith even finishes speaking, he's crowding into Lance's space, planting his knees on either side of Lance's hips on the bed, and Lance is forced to awkwardly prop himself up with his tied hands as he leans back. Keith's body dips low enough that Lance can feel the heat of him in a single seam from his chest to his crotch, and he itches to touch Keith.

Damn, already regretting the whole bondage thing.

But then Keith is tilting Lance's head to the side with a firm grip on his jaw, and planting open-mouthed kisses along his neck, over his bare shoulders, along the curve of his collarbone. He finds the soft skin at the junction of all three, and sucks it between his teeth, biting hard enough for pain to flare across Lance's nerves, only to soothe it with the flat of his tongue a moment later. Lance's body shudders with a moan, and he unconsciously bucks up towards Keith.

But Keith moves with him, and pulls away when he decides the bruising mark on Lance's skin is sufficient. Lance mourns the contact, and he can't drag Keith back down to him, dammit.

But Keith stays in Lance's lap, leaning back to give himself just enough room to undo the sash across his waist, and Lance's muscles thrum with anticipation. Keith pauses, and Lance forces his gaze up to Keith's face, almost regrets it except for the fact that Lance is suddenly extremely aware that Keith knows _exactly_ what he's doing.

He's tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, a slow drag that has Lance aching to kiss him, and his eyes are half-lidded, watching Lance as if he's the tastiest thing he's ever seen.

Lance swallows hard, desire like honey in his throat.

Keith lets the sash fall away slightly, but keeps the fabric in place around his waist. Instead, the silk slips off his shoulders, and Lance is drowning in the sight as the fabric drops lower. He wants to kiss and mark, but Keith is undoubtedly in control here, as his tongue runs along his bottom lip in an invitingly delicate movement.

His gaze is on Lance, on Lance's reactions, when the kimono pools at his elbows, and then he slowly, draws his arms away, letting his hands rest on Lance's shoulders. The silken robe falls open, and Lance is treated to the sight of Keith somehow looking absolutely, beautifully wrecked.

The fabric of the panties is a deep crimson, but see-through, framed around the hard strain of Keith's cock as he digs his nails into Lance's shoulders, and two bands of fabric reach high across Keith's hips, leaving a sliver of bare skin between that Lance wants so desperately to touch.

And maybe he can't with his fingers, but as Keith stands on his knees, Lance's face is almost perfectly level... He dips forward, pushing off the bed with his hands and core straining to hold himself up as he mouths over Keith's bare hip, nipping at his the jut of his hipbone. Keith sucks in a breath above him, hands slipping up from Lance's shoulders to tangle in his hair, grip just tight enough to send sensation running down Lance's spine.

He worries a mark into the pale skin, sucking and kissing and licking, and then moves to the other side, allowing his nose to brush over the underside of Keith's dick for a moment, drawing out a breathless noise from Keith, who curls a little tighter around Lance, thighs tensing for a moment until Lance kisses over the opposite hip and Keith relaxes into the gesture.

“God, you're gorgeous,” Lance breathes, taking a moment to lean his forehead against Keith's hip. The movement sways them both a little dangerously, and Keith dips low to keep their balance, brushing close over the tent in Lance's pants. He lets out a soft whine. “Keith, _please_.”

“Already begging?” Keith teases, except that he sounds just as breathless, and the broken edge to his voice just makes Lance want him more.

“Kei—aahh—” Lance is half-way through another plea when Keith presses his body closer, slotting their lips together messily and giving a tight roll of his hips. They both end up panting into each others' mouths, more focused on chasing pleasure where Keith's body grinds slow and sensual against Lance.

There's a moment where Keith seems to find a rhythm, thighs pressing against Lance's hips as he moves, and he licks into Lance's mouth with renewed vigor, mapping that which he already knows so well with his tongue. And Lance is just drawn in by it all, fingers twitching against the scarf as he longs to touch.

Something gives, and Lance's arms are free, and then he's wrapping them around Keith, who gasps in surprise against Lance's lips as his fingers slip under the back of the kimono to brush over the plush of Keith's ass, squeezing as he goes, and then play along the arcs of fabric that leave an opening between Keith's cheeks.

“L-like them?” Keith pants. “Easy a-access.”

“I d-don't deserve you,” Lance wheezes back, letting a finger dip down, pressing teasingly at Keith's hole. He pulls back slightly in surprise when he finds it slick. “Did you—”

“Just a little,” Keith says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Lance's mouth. “Been a while. Didn't wanna take too long out here.”

Lance groans, and turns to capture Keith's lips with his own, hungry and demanding and too much teeth but also just enough clashing of mouths and personality to be reminiscent of them as a whole. Keith pulls back, lips slick and red, and Lance wonders if this—being able to see the haze in Keith's gaze as he _desires_ , is part of what fueled them on the first time, the way Keith made Lance watch as he fell apart.

Because Lance would love to see them both now, watch as they fall over the edge together.

But once again, Lance is reminded just who exactly is running this show, as Keith drops another dirty grind into Lance's lap before hopping off and leaving Lance's body aching for his warmth. Lance is about to flop backwards and just wait for Keith's return from whatever he's doing behind him but instead he hears a firm, “Come here.”

Lance is up in an instant, and then freezes at the sight before him. Keith is lounging across the bed, a pillow tucked between his arms, caressing his cheek as he gazes at Lance over his shoulder. The kimono has ridden up to his waist, leaving Lance a perfect view of his ass, framed in soft red. Keith spreads his legs a little, arching his back.

“Take off your pants and eat me out. You like strawberry right?”

As if Lance could even think about disobeying.

And okay, so maybe Keith had laughed at the idea of flavored lube at first, but now it's kinda become a thing, and Lance isn't complaining in the least when he drops his pants, kicking them across the room, and settles himself over the bed between Keith's legs, biting playfully at the swell of his ass.

Keith sucks in air, and Lance watches as he ducks his head to bury in the pillow, muffling the low moan that escapes his throat when Lance presses the flat of his tongue over Keith's hole. He licks across the ring of flesh a couple of times, tasting lingering sweetness, because strawberry flavored lube doesn't actually taste like strawberry and is more just a vaguely not unpleasant flavor. And then he dips his tongue inside and feels Keith clench around him, thighs tensing while Lance works him open.

This is a dangerous position for Keith—giving Lance so much control—and Lance knows by the way Keith rises up some, arching his back to push against Lance's face, that this is him demanding more. That this is him playing off of Lance's wants and playing Lance himself like tune he knows by heart.

Because Lance was longing to reach between his own legs, the soft gasps and whimpers falling from Keith's lips edging him on, but now that Keith is moving against him, Lance is forced to reach up and plant his hands over Keith's hips to keep him in place, thumb slipping under one of the bands of the panties and letting it snap back down against Keith's skin.

Keith let's out the softest of yelps, and then it breaks into a loud moan as he glances over his shoulder at Lance, gaze hazy. Lance spreads his cheeks, and plants his mouth over Keith's hole, sucking lightly and then fucking his tongue back in.

They dance like this, teetering between who holds power over the other, and usually Keith wins, and really that's usually what Lance wanted all along.

It matches who they are. It's _them_.

Lance slips a finger in beside his tongue, slowly pushing in, and Keith shudders, entire body tightening and then relaxing. Lance works him open a bit more, but focuses more intently on feeling inside Keith, searching—

“L-Lance— _there_ , _there_ ,” Keith whimpers.

Lance obliges once more, listening to the way Keith's voice cracks on the plea of his name, and then he pulls back, and Keith's moans turn to a growl.

“Off,” he orders, and Lance sits back, leaning back on his hands, feeling pleased with himself.

Keith rolls over, looking substantially wrecked but vaguely annoyed at the same time. The kimono is open but the sash splays across his stomach, a dark swath across pale skin. Keith lays there for a moment, catching his breath, and Lance moves to crawl over him.

But Keith sits up, and presses a hand against Lance's chest as he approaches, reflexes stellar as he pushes Lance against the bed and switches their positions. Lance falls against the pillows on his back, and Keith settles in his lap, intentionally squeezing Lance's hips between his thighs.

“I spent way too long being worked up about this for you to tease me,” he growls, before swooping down and kissing Lance hard and bruising.

Lance hears him rustling something near his head as they kiss, and knowing Keith and his stealthy movements, he's probably reaching for the lube. Lance plants his hands on Keith's thighs, squeezing as he trails upward, coming to rest on his hips, thumbs pressing into the marks he left earlier with his mouth. Keith moans into his mouth.

Lance sucks Keith's bottom lip between his teeth, and then Keith's mouth falls open in a breathless moan as he pulls away from Lance. He leans back, sinking lower onto his own fingers, and Lance leans up to nip at Keith's collarbone, and then trail kisses across his neck, just under the collar. Keith tilts his head back to give Lance more access, and he continues marking him while own hand strays to brush over Keith's dick through the thin fabric.

Keith shudders at the first featherlight touch, and then presses into Lance's touch as he palms him, rutting shamelessly against Lance's hand while simultaneously bearing down on his own fingers.

Lance lets out a low whistle—or tries to, at least, but he's just as breathless watching Keith, and it comes out more as an airy sound of appreciation, which is generally the intent he meant to get across but is significantly less sexy.

Still, Keith loses his breath to a stuttering laugh, and then gently pushes Lance back down to lay against the pillows, though he doesn't stop pressing against the his palm.

“You're going to ruin these,” Lance says, shifting his hand to run his fingers along the length of Keith's dick straining against the panties.

“Don't care,” wheezes Keith as he drizzles lube on his fingers and then sinks back down, taking all three in one movement and arching his back against the stretch.

Lance watches as he works himself more, and then, far sooner than Lance would have expected, Keith pulls his hand away, and lifts himself up to tug against Lance's boxers. There's a bit of a struggle, because Keith refuses to get out of Lance's lap, but then Lance manages to kick them away, and Keith is reaching for the lube.

The first touch on Lance's dick has him hissing, resisting the urge to buck into Keith's hand, but but as Keith positions himself over Lance, he somehow stutters out: “Y-you sure?”

Keith bites his lip, looking down at Lance, hand still curled around his cock. “I like to feel it,” Keith admits, and the flush across his cheeks reaches to the collar. “Besides, I'm gonna ride you until you beg. I know what I'm doing.”

“I a-already begged,” Lance wheezes as he feels Keith brush over him, and he's really not sure who's teasing who at this point, with the way arousal pools in Lance's stomach.

“Make you beg more—” And then Keith goes silent as he starts sinking down, slowly easing onto Lance with little thrusts, slipping lower with each one.

Keith's thighs tremble, and Lance moves his hands to his hips to steady him, but puts pressure on the bruises there and Keith moans, loud and uninhibited, and loses himself for a moment, falling down further. He bites down the squeak of a noise that escapes his throat, but Lance can see the fog in his violet gaze, feels the way Keith's hands cling to his shoulders for support as he finally bottoms out.

Keith is panting, and Lance is drowning.

Keith leans down, nipping at Lance's collarbone lazily, a distraction for both of them, perhaps, while Keith grows accustomed to the feel of Lance inside him and while Lance resists the urge to _fuck him_. Keith mouths over the bite mark from earlier, and Lance shivers, shifting them both, and then they're both gasping for air as he moves inside Keith.

But it spurs Keith into motion, leaning back and planting his hands on Lance's chest, squeezing his thighs around Lance once before lifting up and dropping slowly back down.

Lance finds himself trying really hard not to lose it right then and there, even as he pulls his legs up, planting his feet against the mattress and angling Keith towards him slightly. The next time Keith moves, he hits Lance's thighs and Lance hits his prostate at the same time, and his head tilts back with a soft cry.

Lance feels too wound-up, stretched too thin, and yet he's swept away in the typhoon that is Keith, drawn in like moth to a flame as Keith sets a steady pace. It's when he rolls his hips against Lance's on the most recent drop that Lance has to bite down on his knuckles to stifle the noise that tries to tear from his throat.

He manages to look up at Keith, tears just starting to cloud his vision, and through them he sees that same devil's smirk, even though Keith is panting with exertion. The hands planted on his chest shift, and then Keith is brushing a thumb shakily over Lance's nipple, teasing until it hardens under his fingertips, and Lance presses up into the touch with a broken groan as Keith pinches the sensitive flesh.

This boy is a miracle, Lance thinks, somewhere between the heat of Keith's body and the touch of his hands.

Keith ducks down once, after a particularly slow descent, and kisses at Lance's skin, letting his weight rest on Lance's chest while bringing Lance's hand away from his mouth. When he sits upright again, he brings Lance's hand with him, pressing a kiss to the abused knuckles, and then deliberately places Lance's hand on the curve of his hip, coaxing his fingers closer to where they're joined.

And this time, when Keith rises up, Lance can feel his fingers brush over the slide of their bodies together, a barely-there touch on his dick and spreading Keith just the tiny bit more open with his grip. Lance's other hand reaches to grip Keith's thigh, bruising on his skin, and that was a mistake because now Lance can feel the muscles work in Keith's legs, and the coil in Lance tightens, so so close to breaking.

Keith drops suddenly, slamming against Lance's hips, adding a grind of his own hips before lifting back up, and Lance is breathless with sensation, head tilted back and gasping as tears prick the corners of his eyes because it's all too much. But Keith moans unevenly above him, and on the next movement, Lance thrusts up into him, and the new rhythm becomes a sloppy mix of their paces, both growing increasingly less coordinated.

“G-God,” Keith manages weakly, panting. “You should—hah, there, _there_ , _please—_ see y-yourself.”

Lance's grip on Keith tightens, and he runs his other hand up to Keith's hip to help pull him down as Lance thrusts up, control slipping far-too-quickly away from him. “Y-you're one... to talk,” Lance manages, voice hoarse.

Keith leans back, gaze half-lidded as he meets the push of Lance's hips. He slides his hands down his body, and Lance's eyes follow the movement, desire washing over him despite everything. “C'mon, Baby,” Keith murmurs, voice breathless but sure. His thumbs slip into the upper band of the panties, and then snaps the fabric, sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin. “Come for me.”

It's one more thrust upward and then Lance is following the command.

Keith works him through it, bouncing on Lance's lap, eyes closed in concentration as he chases his own pleasure before Lance goes soft inside him. It's so, so much, and then Keith is clenching around Lance, thighs and ass and a grip on Lance's wrist. He stills except for the slight trembling of his entire body with the force of his orgasm, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

Lance's free hand brushes absently over the front of the panties, where Keith's cum soaks into the fabric. Keith whimpers, oversensitive, as Lance teases, fingers ghosting over the wet spot and pressing against the flesh underneath.

“L-Lance,” Keith pleads, and Lance wonders if it's because it's too much or if it's because Keith hates bodily fluids on him in general.

He lets Lance play for a heartbeat longer, letting out a little breathless whine, before he grabs both of Lance's hands and pins them to the bed above Lance's head. Keith moves with them, sinking down bonelessly against Lance's chest.

“You good?” Lance breathes, kissing Keith's cheek where his head to burrowed into the curve of Lance's neck.

“Just... give me a moment,” Keith pants, pressing a tired kiss to Lance's shoulder. He sucks in air, recovering as Lance peppers kisses over the skin he can reach, and then continues. “Been a while since I've bottomed.”

“You mentioned that,” Lance murmurs against Keith's ear, managing to wriggle his hands free from Keith's grip in order to wrap his arms around his boyfriend. “Thank you.”

“Did you just thank me for sex?” Keith's laughter is light, carefree and affectionate.

“I meant for dressing up,” Lance says, letting his fingers splay over the silk fabric.

“I've never been against it,” Keith mumbles to Lance's skin. “Just... Not as much my thing as other things are.”

“You have other things?”

Lance hears the click of Keith's teeth as his jaw snaps shut. He lifts himself up, bracing his hands on Lance's chest, and Lance barely catches sight of a deep flush on Keith's face before he ducks his head to focus on pull off of Lance. Keith rolls to the side, and then off the bed in one seamless movement.

“Keith,” Lance calls, sitting up and watching the blush reach further down Keith's neck. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Keith_.”

Keith turns to him, worrying his lip, which has already been absolutely abused that night. “I'm not sure...”

“Tell me what it is, at least,” Lance says, wincing at his tired muscles as he gets off the bed—and Keith was the one doing most of the work.

Keith ducks his head shyly, and then scowls. “There's cum dripping out of my ass. Shower first, then we talk.”

“Fine,” Lance says, and laughs at the way Keith instantly drops his attire on the floor. “I like the kimono, by the way. You should wear it more often.”

Keith, standing naked in the bathroom while he waits for the shower to adjust temperatures, looks over at Lance incredulously. “And entice you into having _more_ sex? We'd get nothing done, ever.”

Lance steps close, pressing a kiss to Keith's shoulder. “And that's a problem?”

“You're impossible.”

“You love me,” Lance hums, biting down.

“Yeah.” Keith's breath hitches. “Yeah, I do.”

 

Lance doesn't think anything of it until he's settled over Keith's back, straddling his hips while he works his thumbs into Keith's shoulders. It'd taken some convincing the first time Lance offered to give Keith a massage, but now his boyfriend has rightfully learned that Lance's hands are sin when it comes to relaxation, and Keith is putty underneath him.

“I have two things to revisit,” Lance says.

Keith hums an acknowledgment that he heard Lance, but otherwise doesn't react, which is probably good, Lance thinks, because relaxed, affectionate Keith is substantially more open than mischievous, overworked Keith, the far more common encounter.

“What is this secret kink of yours?”

Keith goes tense underneath him, and Lance swats at his shoulder, because that's the opposite of his goal. His body dips back down, sinking into the mattress, but Keith hides his face in the pillow he's holding when he responds.

“Keith, it's fine,” Lance assures, fingers working around Keith's shoulder blades, drawing out a soft moan. “I'm pretty sure at this point I just have a Keith kink, so whatever you're into, I'm into.”

Keith's body shakes with a silent laugh. He rolls over, catching Lance by the thighs and then sliding his hands up to his hips and drawing him close. Lance settles comfortably against Keith's chest, body sated but mind still running.

“Knifeplay,” Keith finally admits, words spoken into the crown of Lance's damp hair. “I...”

“I don't know why I expected anything else,” Lance huffs. “You take that pocketknife with you everywhere.”

Keith pouts. “It was a gift. Anyway, it can be... Intense. And the knives I've worked with are far bigger than a pocketknife.”

Lance settles himself more comfortably under Keith's arm, drawing the sheets up around them. “Let's try it sometime.”

Keith's grip on him tightens. “You mean that?”

“Sure,” Lance hums. “Now, item number two.”

Keith presses a kiss to Lance's forehead.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“About knifeplay?”

“About loving me.”

“Oh,” Keith breathes, and blushes. “I—uh—yeah. I know it's soon and—I just—”

“Me too,” Lance confesses, and that shuts Keith up instantly. And then: “I love me, too.”

Keith groans, and tries to push Lance away, but Lance already has his arms around Keith's middle and clings like a koala to his boyfriend, so any time Keith pushes at him, he ends up dragging Keith with him. “I take it back,” Keith grunts. “You're the worst.”

“But really,” Lance says, after Keith finally gives up on trying to pull off the leech that is Lance from his body. “I think I love you too.”

The way Keith's eyes light up the moment Lance's words register is a sight that Lance will remember forever, seared into his mind in the same way Keith's touch is to his skin and his taste to Lance's mouth.

The kiss that follows is soft and sweet.

Keith mumbles against his lips: “Like your surprise?”

“The best,” Lance breathes back. “Just like you. Seriously, though, wear the kimono more often.”

Keith laughs, but it's a promise in the way he kisses Lance with intent.

 


End file.
